


He was a Fool

by RebelxPen



Series: The Mannerly Series [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress, Shock, mentions of abuse, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 23:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3268802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebelxPen/pseuds/RebelxPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haymitch observing Effie on the hovercraft after rescuing her from the Capitol</p>
            </blockquote>





	He was a Fool

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 of 2. Mostly internal monologue by Haymitch as he takes in the difference in Effie post incarceration in the Capitol. Part 2 will cover him fighting to keep her alive in District 13 when they propose to execute her for her involvement in the Hunger Games and the Tyranny of President Snow.

The thrum of the hovercraft made it impossible to think, so Haymitch stared. Effie Trinket was like the butterflies she wore in so much of her fashion—she flitted---sitting, standing, leaning, she was never _still._ Now, buckled safely into her seat across the craft from him, she sat with her hands folded primly in her lap, her skin almost as pale as the clinical white prison outfit the Capitol had put her in. Her arms were mottled with dark angry bruises, tiny red pin pricks in the crook of her elbow and along the side of her neck from needles that had injected her with God only knew what. Haymitch chad gotten her out of there fast, and helped her into a District 13 Jumpsuit that hung on her like a tent. She hadn’t moved since he’d buckled her in, she’d barely moved when he found her. 

Those bright blue eyes, the only thing about her that had ever been _real_ had stared up at him as if through a fog, as if they didn’t believe _he_ was real. There was no time to convince her, Plutarch had only bought them a few precious minutes, so Haymitch had scooped her up and ran for the hovercraft. She was so thin, and the lack of makeup and colors were making the bruises and the dark, heavy circles under her eyes stand out. It made his fingers clench into white knuckled fists in his lap, made him curse himself for thinking that keeping her in the dark would keep her safe. 

He’d been a fool to believe they would leave her unscathed, and now she was a shell of the woman he knew—the woman that had driven him crazy for the last ten years, and he was doing his best to pretend those marks all over her were some odd new Capitol style of the makeup that she depended on so much. Something he could tease her about later.

 After a while, his Seam grey eyes softened as they took her in, eyes roaming over her hair, long and natural now. How many times had he wished to tug that wig right off her head? Haymitch was surprised to find Effie’s hair curled all on its own. It was different than the curls she wore in her wigs, though, all wound as tightly as her personality. Her natural hair was long and had soft waves that turned to ringlets the closer it came to the end. Somehow he’d always known she’d be blonde under all that get up.

 There was no room for satisfaction now, no room for the smug jabs he used to throw at her appearance. Even if he could find the motivation, he didn’t think she could find the strength to bear it. Not now.

His fists clenched, and his knuckles whitened as he finally worked up the courage to look at her eyes again, those eyes that were normally so bright and blue and full of life. He’d secretly always thought them lovely, though he was loath to even admit it to himself most days. Where was the harm in appreciating somethin’, though? That’s what he wanted to know.

  _Damn,_ he needed a drink. His throat itched for it. His chest ached. Every sound in the craft felt amplified and too loud, too close.  Had she even moved a finger since he buckled her into that seat? Would she simply sit there and stare vacantly at nothing forever? He shut his eyes just to escape the stark, cold reality of it all. When Haymitch opened his eyes again, Effie’s were closed, her own hands clenched in her lap so tightly that he was sure her nails would break skin. She looked so frail in that oversized jumpsuit, her jaw tensed and teeth clenched as if fighting off some enemy that only she could see. Just what had they done to her?

 “Mr. Abernathy?” a voice broke him out of his thoughts, loud and too close to his ear. His fist came up, but when he looked, it was just a young soldier from 13, not much older than Katniss. He put his fist down. “We’re nearly there, sir,” the boy concluded, lowering his voice with an apologetic nod.

 Haymitch returned the nod and stood, his knees popping from holding one position for too long. He bent them experimentally before slowly crossing the space between his seat and Effie’s to kneel before her.

 “Hey, Princess.”

 His hand reached out hesitantly and covered both of hers in her lap. If she didn’t loosen that grip soon, she’d draw blood with those talons.

 At the touch, Effie flinched and looked at him. She looked at him as if for the very first time, except there was no heat in it this time around. No spirit. Just the watery depths of those big blue eyes he was beginning to miss, “Hay—“ she stammered, the name fading on her tongue around the tears that threatened to choke her. “—Haymitch?”

 He nodded, swallowing the emotions knotting in his throat, “Mm,” he said. “Yeah. S’me, You’re gonna be all right. We’re almost there. You’re safe now, all right?”

Her lip quivered and he suddenly felt the need for that drink surge up again with a vengeance. “Haymitch, they—“ she was shaking---she was shaking so badly he wanted to wrap her up and hold her just to still her. “—They,” her voice broke and Haymitch shook his head softly, holding up a hand to stop her trying more. 

“Shh,” he hushed her, though he doubted she could hear it over the engine of the hovercraft. “I know. You’re safe now, sweetheart. Nobody’s gonna touch you again,” he promised, reaching up to dash away one of the large tears from her chin.

He stood, and, hesitating, he stooped to brush his lips to the top of her honey blonde hair before taking a seat beside her for the landing. He didn’t let go of her hand.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
